's disclosure; and though he had spoken in low tones
Tomassov was stunned as by a great crash.

"'Arrested,' he murmured, desolately.

"'Yes, and kept as a state prisoner--with everybody belonging to
him....'

"The French officer seized Tomassov's arm above the elbow and pressed it
hard.

"'And kept in France,' he repeated into Tomassov's very ear, and then
letting him go stepped back a space and remained silent.

"'And it's you, you, who are telling me this!' cried Tomassov in an
extremity of gratitude that was hardly greater than his admiration for
the generosity of his future foe. Could a brother have done for him
more! He sought to seize the hand of the French officer, but the latter
remained wrapped up closely in his cloak. Possibly in the dark he had
not noticed the attempt. He moved back a bit and in his self-possessed
voice of a man of the world, as though he were speaking across a card
table or something of the sort, he called Tomassov's attention to
the fact that if he meant to make use of the warning the moments were
precious.

"'Indeed they are,' agreed the awed Tomassov. 'Good-bye then. I have
no word of thanks to equal your generosity; but if ever I have an
opportunity, I swear it, you may command my life....'

"But the Frenchman retreated, had already vanished in the dark lonely
street. Tomassov was alone, and then he did not waste any of the
precious minutes of that night.

"See how people's mere gossip and idle talk pass into history. In all
the memoirs of the time if you read them you will find it stated that
our envoy had a warning from some highly placed woman who was in love
with him. Of course it's known that he had successes with women, and in
the highest spheres, too, but the truth is that the person who warned
him was no other than our simple Tomassov--an altogether different sort
of lover from himself.

"This then is the secret of our Emperor's representative's escape
from arrest. He and all his official household got out of France all
right--as history records.

"And amongst that household there was our Tomassov of course. He had,
in the words of the French officer, the soul of a warrior. And what more
desolate prospect for a man with such a soul than to be imprisoned
on the eve of war; to be cut off from his country in danger, from his
military family, from his duty, from honour, and--well--from glory, too.

"Tomassov used to shudder at the mere thought of the moral torture he